| abstract
| - Transformers 2005 - Saturday, August 07, 2004, 7:56 PM Landing Pad The smell of heated tarmac hits you first as you survey the landing and liftoff point for all flights to Cybertron. The wreckage of previous battles here are off to the back in a jumbled heap. To the southeast is the massive form of Autobot City itself, a bit battle-scarred, but still operational. Surrounding you on all other sides are forests of large conifer trees. The spaceport absolutely sparkles with a new shine - in fact, it's almost blinding in direct sunlight. Spots are a thing of the past, and each building has a brand new coat of paint. Even the *scrap* piles look like they've been cleaned off and straightened up. Contents: Junkion Flagship Autobot Shuttle Autobot Hovercraft (Sentinel) Interstellar Shuttle Pirate Shuttle Autobot Sensor #6596 Shuttle Terminal (Autobot City) 1985 Pierce Ladder Apparatus enters from the Entrance to Autobot City to the south. 1985 Pierce Ladder Apparatus has arrived. Chrome decks and bins shift in an orchestrated pattern, revealing a set of powerful(is the steel BULGING?)arms, rotating around the cab as it raises to form a semblance of a broad chest. The frame and rear decks swivel into place to form legs, and a darkened face, with eyes alight like Hell's unholy flame appears above the cabin... Foxfire enters from the Entrance to Autobot City to the south. Foxfire has arrived. Scattershot is waiting on the launchpad for the other poor bastards who are stuck on patrol. The Technobot checks his chronometer tapping his foot. Foxfire zooms out of the city, and skids to a stop, taking a quick look around as if forgetting where he is for a moment. A moment later, he's off again, and doesn't stop until he reaches the launching pad...or rather, Scattershot. Yeah. Wouldn't you know it... 29 tons of fire suppression equipment, primed, locked and loaded with a slate of duties as long as your leg, and what happens? Rookie class training for Seattle FD? Haz-Mat mass casualty drills with Chicago's finest? Game of dominoes with the boys? No, this scarlet titan of conflagration crushing gets boned with patrol duty. Who's the wank that set the schedule? Thundering out onto the tarmac, optics slitted with annoyed pursuance, Inferno makes his way towards the shuttles, jaw moving carelessly as it chews something. Joy, oh joy. Looks like a wonderful mood. "Scattershot... You frontin' this lil' shindig? Let's make 'er quick. Ah got work ta do." Scattershot smirks "Frontin'? More like punished. My boys and I have better stuff to do than those little patrols. We have territories in jeopardy on cybertron and an incoming alien fleet and..." The commander eyes Scattershot "I can carry you bud but you'll have to hold your breath and stick the tape in your take deck." "Tape?" Foxfire smirks as he comes closer to the Technobot commander. "What, I don't have a name now?" He's only joking, of course. He and Scattershot haven't had the chance to get acquainted yet. Nodding nonchalantly, his own massive chassis being toted by the Technobot Commander on more than one occassion, Inferno pauses, looking to the clouds as they wash across the San Franciscan skies. Maybe it won't be too awful bad... Maybe something's gonna explode. That's always fun. If you're into that whole death and carnage thing. Which Inferno, at the moment, is not. There's a class of 50 sitting at the District 4 Chicago Fire Training Academy right now, backed by the National Guard for a mass casualty drill. Did I mention joy? Sarcasm, oh sarcasm... "Let's get 'er done. Foxfire, ah ain't gonna lead ya by th' hand, dammit. Let's go." Scattershot waves Foxfire's concerns off "Tape, Blaster's boy whatever. You a new one or just Steeljaw with a bigger tail and a new paintjob ?" Scattershot checks out the Hovercraft which would be a roomier albeit slower alternative of performing the patrol. "I suppose we could use the hovercraft or we could take the expressway." He says pointing up. Scattershot leaps into the air transforming into his Starfighter mode. Inferno has left. Taken. Foxfire has left. You blast off and launch yourself towards the Earth Orbit. London The skyline of the capital of Britain is dominated by various famous landmarks such as Big Ben, St. Peter's Cathedral, and London Bridge. Crowded narrow streets make it very hard for giant robots to walk around in, but smaller robots and humans can move around with ease. Contents: Swindle Red F-15 Jet. Swindle gazes blankly down at the terrain below, his optics registering the English city, swarming with life. Teeming, one might say, with the dominant species of the planet. At least for now. He shakes his head sharply, irritated by the tedious necessity of the trip. "Perhaps, but we all know what'll happen, we'll come in to swipe it, and the Autobots will come charging in on their 'knights of shining armour' routine and we'll spend almost as much as we make fighting them off." After a furious gut-wrenching vertical acceleration the Techno-Fighter is approaching the skies above London. "Allright we are approaching our destination. Return your trays and seat to upright position we are about to land in some mall's parking lot. N'uff kidding around now. Once we land we will deploy and split. Inferno, you and Foxfire will cover ground patrol while I keep an eye up." The techno-fighter is landing in a parking lot. Cockpit cramped and temper rising, Inferno fidgets in his seat, or what one would call a semblance of, optics darting from gauges to dials, buttons to lights, each snatch of vision catching the image but failing to register. Ground pounder through and through, the Big Red Machine tilts his head toward the tape, his tone menacing and threatening a growl... "On mah hip, Foxfire. No jilly-jackin' aroun'. We run 'er sweeps, n' take this crate back ta th' house." Whispered directives set, the firefighter turns his head in the direction of the front of the craft, nodding and resuming that back to business demeanor. "Keep yer noggin' low, Scats... Ah ain't carryin' ya home, n' ah DAMN sure ain't goin' fer a swim." Starfighter comes to halt and lets his passengers out before taking off again. "Don't worry about me pal and keep an eye on the doggy. Blaster would be pissed if anything happened to him I bet." Inferno has arrived. Dropped. Foxfire has arrived. Dropped. Foxfire gives a small whimper at Inferno's tone, but quickly gets over it, as he flicks his ears, listening to Scattershot. "By Primus!" he utters, clearly irritated. "I'm not a blasted dog!" It could have been worse, though. Slag actually called him a cat. Red F-15 Jet. shudders as he remembers countless defeats at the hands of the Autobots. "That's the whole point of scouting, we are trying to find the targets that are potentially the most lucrative. Just keep an eye out, alright?" He's not entirely certain where London's power supply is, but he certainly knows windturbines, powerplants or whatever else when he sees it. Hello, jolly old England! I'm Inferno! A REAL firefighter from a land of REAL firefighters! Hello, english parking lot! I'm Inferno! I've just been disgorged from the guts and innards of our beloved Technobot commander, Scattershot! Fantastic! As the scarlet titan known as Inferno leaps from the techno-jet in a classic hot drop maneuver, optics immedately go to the skies, trained, experienced scanning of the clouds above the call to duty. Primus... Can you believe this crap? A duty roster a mile long, a schedule packed to no end with mutual aid assignments for terran firefighters across the United States, and here he is, agate hued eyes piercing the heavens in search of a gaggle of retarded Decepticons. Guess who wants to be here, jolly old England! Not Inferno... "Got th' course plotted already, Foxfire. Scats'll cover aerial n' radar contacts, we run th' streets." Collapsing as the transformation process begins, the mock diesel within bellows to life, a thick cloud of choking, black exhaust fuming into the air. Kiss my tailboard, EPA. "Up awn th' top, Fido. Let's see if'n ya can make yerself a decent firedog." VrrrrOOOOOM! As quick as flashover, arms and legs retract into the deck and chassis as the head disappears to form a sparkling 1985 Pierce Ladder Apparatus. The diesel powerplant rumbles like thunder, roaring and ready! Swindle sighs, waving his arms in a vague gesture that appears to be intended to be an exasperated shrug. "And why'd they send us /here?/ Wasn't this place hit only a few months back? The redundancy of this assignment is just ridiculous." This contribution to the conversation is spoken in a grumpy grumble, a resigned opposition, perhaps the true source of his displeasure is the time taken from his bartering. You mean Swindle doesn't carry a radio, to barter from a range? Sheesh. "Either way, we're stuck here." Comcast says. "Try to make the most of it." The Jet banks around again.. just in time to spot a certain non-terran looking starfighter in the air. "Oh.. Primus.." he mutters quietly. Foxfire grits his teeth, resisting the urge to glare at the much larger Inferno as he extends his claws, a gesture that indicates his irritation. "Dammit, enough with the dog references!" he hisses, lowering his ears. Let's not forget how much he hates Swindle; in other words, it's a very good thing that the foxbot has yet to notice the Combaticon's presence. Starfighter flies as slow as his design allows so he can bask in the polluted glory of London. "Ya know somethin' Fern ? I think I will get me re-assign to Cybertron ASAP. This place is starting to get to me." The starfighter veers off to the left to do a little survey of London's northern most sector. The starfighter passes through some coal clouds. Swindle's optics dim to a dull purple hue as he becomes aware of an Autobot presence in the area. "Ohhhh, great, just great. Wonderful as a matter of fact. What are /they/ doing here, no scratch that, I don't even know what /we're/ doing here. Let's just hope they don't notice two intrusions into restriced airspace, hmmm?" And no, he doesn't barter over the radio, it lacks that /Cybertronian/ element. Mmmmm. Delicious coal smoke. Incomplete combustion of one of the most wasteful fuels known on the planet. Now were this Ladder 25, first in, preconnects pulled and a crew ready to rock, this would be great. Instead, the stink of that partially combusted coal only makes him slightly ill. And to think the Big Red Machine prefers this joint to that dump known as Cybertron. Go figure. Radio snapping to life, the voice being heard as the massive attack apparatus begins to pull out onto the narrow London streets, Inferno directs his traffic to the eye in the sky known as Scattershot, the bored toned all too obvious. "Put yer transfer in, hoss. Primus knows we's barely able ta hold th' damn lines up yonder as it is. We need a good bare-knuckle scrapper ta whip them slugs inta shape. Hey, didja clear n' verify all inbound-out outbound traffic inta London-Heathrow? Ah'd hate ta be smokin' some Decepti-punk n' end up smackin' a 747." Red F-15 Jet. finds himself in very close quarters with a certain airborne he has seen about several times. "Oh for the love of.." he mutters, transforming and expecting the worse. "If they can make us out in this cloud, then we're probably in trouble." He mutters into a tight radio broadcast to Swindle. "Prepare yourself, but don't fire the first shot." The sounds of gears whirring and a jet engine dying down can be heard, as Comcast shifts his form into his natural state. Starfighter nods (figuratively because he has no head in this mode duuuuh) "Checkin' with London-Heathrow." The technobot checks his reference files. "This is Autobot Military Commander Scattershot speakin'. I am currently runnin' a low-altitude check over London. Radar currently shows...9 friendlies and...Hold...Possible Bogey. Does not respond on the IFF. Please confirm number of friendlies in the vicinity over." The techno-fighter carries on and does not alter it's course yet but for a second 1 blip wasn't the right color and it's not showing anymore. Could the bogey be in a radar blind-spot ? Foxfire leaps onto Inferno, and, without missing a beat, climbs up so that he's on top of the...firetruck? Whatever he's supposed to be. The cassette smirks, keeping his body low. "What me to transform? Otherwise I might have to dig my claws into you." He pauses for a moment. "You *do* have a tape player, right?" He's just trying to make himself useful... Swindle nods his agreement. "Don't worry, I'm not making any sudden moves. Make deals, not war and all." he frowns, "This accursed mission's gone from bad to worse." He glances over at Comcast and jabs a thumb downwards, towards the city below. "You think we should head groundside, try to lose him in the city?" He tone is one of cautious optimism, as he considers it worth the try. "Let's split up," Comcast decides to settle with. "You take the low road and I'll take the high. They shouldn't be able to spot two smaller targets." And with that, he slowly rises himself up in the air, hopefully rising above the horrid horrid Scattershot before he notices.. but probably not. Locked down, geared up, and ready for action, the fire attack apparatus wheels out onto the street, for a moment earning the stares and ire of the Londoners on the city streets. Maybe it's because they've never seen such a sexy Pierce before, classic in form, yet so amazingly functional. Or maybe it's the gold flecked lettering, each pinstripe and character catching the clouded sunshine, only to throw it back in a dazzling array of golden light. Or MAYBE it's the fact that this titanic fire attack apparatus is driving down the wrong side of the road. Horns explode in the air, both from Inferno and the other drivers, with the thick, twin Federal air bugles drowning out the measly warning devices of the mini coopers and other english tripe. American made, baby. "Get out th' damn way! Pull yer head out a' yer tailpipe, jackass! PRIMUS, is EVERYONE an idiot!?" *HOOOOOOOOOOONK!* The radio, by the way, gets back to business as instead of pulling over, the fire engine simply kicks on the lights and siren, and cuts his OWN path through the incessant traffic. "Talk ta me, Scattershot... Ya got contact 'er not?" Starfighter runs another radar check and the bleep is back on the screen. The technobot receives confirmation. "London-Heathrow this is Autobot Scattershot. Confirming 9 friendlies and one bogey. Changing vector to identify." The Starfighter comes about to intercept the bogey in question. "Fern' I got 1 bogey on radar. That's one unidentified contact. Moving in to identify." After another radar sweep. "London-Heathrow, this is Scattershot. Bogey's IFF transponder matches Decepticon. London-Heathrow I got one bandit inbound. Situation is undercontrol, moving to intercept." Scattershot accelerates towards the F-15's position. Foxfire lowers his form even more, if that's possible, keeping his ears alert. He glances in Scattershot's direction for a moment, but says nothing. This probably won't end in a fight; how disappointing. Foxy had DC install that 'laser vision' the previous night, and he's itching to test it out on some Decepticons. "Jeez," he mutters, after listening to Inferno's swearing. "Cool it, will ya?" He makes a mental note to stay out of Inferno's way when he's in a bad mood. Comcast's weapons have had a moment to power up, but he's not wielding them menacingly. He simply stands there, trying his best to act as if he's perfectly innocent in the matter. "Hello, Scattershot." He says quite casually, as he stands there in the air. Swindle thumbs up this time, registering his agreement. Therefore, as Comcast rises ever upwards, Swindle himself begins to descend, fixing his optics on a likely-looking landing site, somewhere that provides good cover so he won't be seen from the air. Of course, a site like that wouldn't necessarily prevent him from being seen by those on land. As he goes, he grumbles, it may be apparent by now that he does /not/ like this assignment. Starfighter powers up the disruptors and phasers, loads up the torpedo bay and cycles the 40mm gatling guns. The Technobot spots Comcast hovering there non-menacingly. The jet passes the Decepticon because he can't hover. "This a new trick of yours ? Hovering in a place where ya don't belong hoping to get your guts blasted into the next time-zone ?" Scattershot keys his radio "Fern' I found the bandit. It's one of them Decepticon, currently investigating. Keep your optics open on the ground. I doubt this pile of scrap would venture outside without backup or mommy." "Allright Comcast is it ? What are you doing here ?" "Son of a... Foxy, hold tight. Scratch mah paint, n' ah'm takin' the bill outta yer hindquarters." In a maneuver for the ages, the fire attack apparatus locks the brakes, sending 29 tons of steel sliding from the rear as the engine rapidly changes direction. Tires break traction and desire takes the forefront, as FINALLY, some of the gettin' down gets down. "*crackle* Scattershot, ah'm in route, activate yer transponder so's ah can get a lock. *crackle* Autobot Task Force Delta Four Seven Niner ta London-Heathrow, advise clear all pattern. Ah repeat, clear all pattern n' divert until further instruction. Delta Four Seven Niner ta London Emergency Main, standby fer potential inbound, threat level Charlie. Delta Four Seven Niner is assumin' ground comman'." Comcast shrugs loosely. "Why, simply taking in the sights, my dear Autobot. Haven't you heard some of the best music and entertainment that comes from this land? I have." He doesn't bother to mention he knows so much thanks to his propoganda project from some time ago, though. "I just had to be here in person. Now, you're not going to break the truce over such a silly thing as a little sightseeing, are you?" "Who, me?" Foxy chuckles softly and braces himself as Inferno preforms the direction-changing manuever. It's difficult, however, as normally he'd need his claws to keep from flying off, but the other Autobot's tone worries him, so he refrains from doing so. "Think I'd be more useful in yer tape player?" Assuming Inferno has one, of course. Foxfire turns his ears in Comcast's direction, a small frown appearing on his muzzle. Swindle touches down on the Streets of London, becoming the focus of more than a few upturned stares. Glancing around as he becomes aware of the crowd parting to make way for him, or simply to get away from him, he sets off in a likely lokking direction. Sirens grow louder as he moves, he dismisses them, assuming some local emergency. Glancing upwards he notes that attention seems to be focused on Comcast, perhaps they haven't noticed his own presence yet. "London-Heathrow to Autobot Task Force Delta Four Seven Niner, the pattern is clear. All inbound on divert and all outbound grounded. Knock one down for the admiralty, chaps." "Autahbot Delta Four Seven Niner copies, London-Heathrow. standby, will advise." Gears jam and grind in the fire engine as it screams down the road, the equipment used for uncovering and rescuing the fallen becoming a handy tool in locating the Technobot as he screams across the skies. But wait... Why's that traffic peeling back so hard up ahead? Assaulting the British streets at breakneck speed, Inferno squints a figurative questioning optic beneath the wide, chrome grille, the realization already coming to mind as to the whys and hows. Typical. Ain't gonna have a seeker without at least someone flying their wing. "Ah ain't got no damn tape player, Foxfire... Ah'm a ladder apparatus, not a Primus fersaken cadillac. Now getcher eyes up. ah think we's got company up ahead 'bout a mile 'er so." Starfighter begins slowly circling around Comcast "Truce ? If yer talkin' about the Olympics truce pal it wore out when they extinguished the torch. You are to sightsee right ? What's the matter, Galvatron took away your internet ? You can do better than that. Since when do Decepticons care about some and I quote 'insignificant fleshbag's culture' ? As for me ? Well I am the one they send to make sure people like you don't ruin the sights for the REAL tourists." Comcast laughs smugly in front of Scattershot. "The /real/ tourists? Oh, Scattershot, I simply have no idea what you Autobots are talking about. And my opinions about the humans has nothing to do with my appreciation for art. Besides, this smog is keeping me away from obscuring the view in any serious way, right?" Not one does he do anything remotely aggresive, and maintains his smile the entire time. Swindle is heading down the street, away from Inferno. He pauses for a moment as the sirens grow ever louder, there doesn't /seem/ to be any emergencies in the immediate vicinity. Glancing behind him almost casually he at forst dismisses the Fire Engine. Then he hesitates, glancing over his shoulder again. An American Fire Engine, in England? And one, further, which does not appear to have a driver. Groaning wearily he turns to face the approaching Autobot, making no attempt to flee just yet, not with Scattershot up there. Instead he merely waits for Inferno to arrive, and hopes he remembers to stop before he hits him. Foxfire snickers in a good-natured manner, his grin returning. "Just a suggestion, Inferno, no need to curse at me." He again perks his ears, lifting his head to take a look around...and there, a good distance away but not even to keep from being seen, is a familar form, though Foxy has to concentrate for a minute before he can recognize it. Realizing who it is, the fox tape snarls deeply, small flames sparking up from his mouth like a fire-breathing dragon, and his optics briefly flashing in anger. Swindle. Of all the Decepticons that could be here, it has to be Swindle. So much for Foxfire keeping his cool. And the rubber meets the road... Regardless of where, regardless of when, if there's asphalt, a little tread, and a place to go in a hurry, Inferno is your man. Traffic continues to part like the waters of the Red Sea as the fire attack apparatus thunders down the road, sirens blaring, Federal winding, and lazy arcs of crimson light floating across the buildings as it passes. And the distance continues to close... Starfighter turns around again "Yeah the /real/ tourists as in the /human/ tourists. And you are currently polluting that smog cloud with your presence." The starfighter sets his sights on the floating seeker "As for your appreciation of art I'll buy that from a non-combat oriented Decepticon. I suppose you wussies have to specialize in /something/." Oh yeah all the tact of wrecking ball. Comcast's optics narrow. "So your fellow Autobots would not qualify as tourists in this land? How odd." He keeps his optics on the jet as it circles and circles him, while he remains motionless. "Not getting dizzy, are you?" Swindle sighs and spreads his arms open wide in a calming gesture as the fire engine draws near, shouting to be heard over it's screaming sirens. "Will it do any good to tell you I'm not interested in fighting you?" His mouth opens to say more but his attention is suddenly called to the presence of, oh dear, Foxfire. Glancing upwards into the sky, as if in a silent appeal, he curses the luck that landed the foxbot in with this group of Autobots. Starfighter chuckles "If I was a seeker I might be puking my guts out by now but alas I am a technobot so not gonna happen." Cancels the targeting routine "No us Autobot do not qualify as tourists because we are here to /work/, as in work to keep this country safe from people like you." (Is going to have to leave in 5, getting late + work in the morning.) ***** *** * * * * * * *** *** **** * * *** * * * * *** * * *** *** ** * * ** * ** * *** *** *** * * *** *** * * * * *** **** * * *** * * * * *
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